Situations and Circumstances
by RainbowsArePretty
Summary: 100 Situations challenge. 9/11 "Survive" The world was slowly turning black, tunnel vision slowly darkening her vision. Her senses slowly draining away, she only had enough strength to choke out one word. "Auggie."
1. Disease

Hey! I'm doing the 100 Situations challenge on LJ! *Cue blatant lj pimping* And they shall all be on my journal (rainbowsfics). I'm gonna try to do one every day, but I make no promises.

xXx

Annie sped through the streets of Georgetown with little concern for the current speed limit. It was about eight minutes to the West End, where Auggie lived, but she was determined to make it in four.

She had tried calling Auggie five times, with all five times going directly to voicemail. It was right after the blind date that her sister had set her on – she should really stop trusting her sister when it came to men – and needed someone to rant to.

After the last time of him not picking up, she got the sick feeling in her gut. It wasn't the first time she had that feeling when it came to Auggie. The first time had been when he had run away with Tash, and there was no telling why he wasn't answering his phone this time.

She looked up when she realized she had parked her blood-red car. She was in front of Auggie's apartment. Making her way to the door, she fumbled for the key Auggie had given her a couple months back.

Stepping into his abode, she looked around for any signs that trouble had been here recently. Finding none, she called out, "Auggie!"

A groan alerted her to a person on the couch. She leaned up against the wall and smirked, "Auggie, why didn't you pick up your phone?"

"Annie, I'm dying," he croaked out. He lied upon the coach, his face ghostly pale, and fumbled around for his tea.

"Auggie, you are not dying," Annie responded, pulling up his feet to make room for her to sit. She took one of the few pillows he had, and placing it on her lap, pulled his feet back.

"I am too!" he whined, running his fingers through his already tousled hair, "I'm sore everywhere, exhausted, and freezing cold, even though it's July in DC."

"Auggie," she spoke softly, "You have the flu. Everyone gets it sometime or another, and we all have lived."

Despite her response, he shook his head. "I don't _get _the flu. None of the Andersons do. We're, like, immune."

"Auggie, you can't be immune to flues," she gently reminded him.

"Can too," he muttered, "My mom always got sick before she married, and afterwards, she was a hundred percent healthy. Explain that," he challenged with a smirk.

She got up from her position on the couch, ignoring his loud childlike whine, and went to the other side of the couch.

Brushing his hair aside, she placed the back of her slender hand on his forehead.

"Yup," she murmured, "You've got a fever, Aug."

"A fever? Are you sure that's not just my migraine seeping out through my head?" he groaned.

She lowered her voice as to not further his pain, "Why didn't you tell me you had a migraine?"

He stiffened slightly at the combination of her cool fingers, and her hot breath. "I don't know," he murmured sleepily, "But that feels nice," and closed his eyes dreamily.

"Here," she said and, shaking a pair of pills out of the bottle that was in her purse, handed them to him, along with his tea. "Ibuprofen. It should help alleviate the pain."

He sat up slightly and cringed as the sudden movement aggravated his pain, but obliged and swallowed the pills with a sip of the chamomile tea.

"Better?" she murmured, her slender fingers drifting lazily through his dark locks.

A sigh accidentally escaped his lips, "No, not yet. But I will be. I don't think I'm dying anymore," he chuckled breathlessly.

"Well, that's a relief," she murmured. A moment of silence passed, and then she whispered to him.

"Think you can make it to the bed?"

"Annie Walker, are you trying to seduce me?" he smirked, "Cause, honestly, I hate to think that all the time I spent thinking up the ways to woo you were for nothing."

She chuckled, despite herself, and clutching the offered hand, pulled him up.

Leaning on Annie, he stumbled all the way to the bedroom. Falling backwards on the bed he sighed in bliss. Pulling the covers over him, Annie perched herself on the edge of his bed, and started to run her fingers through his hair.

"Annie, do you have a hair fetish?" he asked, closing his eyes regardless, "Not that I . . . mind."

"Good night, Auggie," she murmured, kissing his forehead.

She walked away from him, and he stifled his disappointment when he responded with a "Night, Annie."

His eyes shot open as he felt a weight on the other side. Scooting over to him, Annie lied next to him in the bed.

"Now, I _do _think you're trying to seduce me," he murmured. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he pulled her closer to him, ignoring her surprised gasp.

"I might get you infected," he warned her.

"That's okay," she murmured, "Maybe then well have time for all those ideas you have on how to woo me."

xXx

Shortish, but I like it. :)


	2. Flu

"Don't say it," Annie growled, unmoving from her current position.

"Okay," Auggie responded, a smirk playing his lips, "But, I did."

"I told you not to say it," she muttered.

"And I won't," he clarified, "But, I did warn you, you know."

She scoffed and pinned him with a glare he couldn't see, "That's just the same as saying 'I told you so', you know."

"C'mon, Annie," he spoke softly, rubbing her back gently, "Being sick isn't all that bad."

Currently, they were in bed – Auggie's bed, to be specific, and neither of them had any intention of moving. It was Saturday, and they didn't have to work, and Annie was willing to face Danielle's wrath on not coming back after her date.

She wouldn't admit that he had warned her, that sleeping next to a flu-ridden Auggie would likely result in an infected Annie as well. She hadn't cared much, and ignored his forewarning, curling up to him anyways – screw the consequences.

It wasn't until Auggie awoke to a series of poorly stifled sneezes that he realized that she had too had gotten infected.

"Well," Annie murmured, her eyes fluttering closed as he gently rubbed her back, "It's not too bad when you do that."

He smiled at her unconcealed trembling of her voice, and lied back down, his head resting comfortably on the feather pillow, and pulled her down to him, conveniently ignoring her sharp intake of breath and shuffled her around until she was comfortably resting on his chest.

When she spoke, her hot breath hit his neck where her face was buried. "So," she murmured, "Is this what we're gonna do all day?"

"Well," he answered, his lithe fingers trailing up and down her back, "The way I see it, since we're both infected, we're really doing civilization a favor by staying in bed."

Annie sat up again, raising an eyebrow, "Really, Auggie?" she extended her hand, "C'mon, we're getting up."

Pulling them out of bed, Annie shakily extended a foot on the bed. She hadn't taken into equation the fact that she was deathly susceptible to nausea, and that having recently caught the flu could easily unbalance her.

When she placed her second foot on the floor, her knees wobbled and she managed to collapse under her own weight, grateful that Auggie was there to catch her.

Lifting her up bridal style, Auggie placed her gently back on the bed. Reaching up to kiss her forehead, Auggie nuzzled the side of her face and murmured, "Just stay, Annie. You're too sick to move."

Ignoring her half-hearted protest, he stepped out of the bedroom and padded his way into the kitchen, pausing briefly in the living room to find the god-given solace that was called Ibuprofen.

xXx

When he came back to the half-awake Annie, he was carrying spiced tea, toast, the bottle of Ibuprofen, and a wet towel.

"Hey," she murmured, looking at him through her eyelashes.

Entering the bed through the opposite side, he gingerly placed the tray on her lap. She scanned quickly at the objects he had brought in, stopping to frown at the wet towel.

As if sensing her confusion, he crawled closer to Annie, while she unconsciously moved towards him. Cupping her face, he placed a chaste kiss on her forehead.

"That's what I thought – you've got a fever," he spoke with a cringe. His fingers danced, searching for the towel. Upon finding it, he placed it carefully on her.

"That's how you tell if you have a fever?" she asked, curling into his warmth.

"It's what my mom did," he shrugged, "Anyways, there's tea and toast for the nausea, and Ibuprofen for the headache."

She frowned, "How could you know I had a headache?"

He smirked, "You forget, Annie. I'm clairvoyant, especially when it comes to you."

She shrugged, "You know, as crazy sick as I am right now, that might actually make sense."

xXx

She was finally asleep, and he would bet that she hadn't gotten much sleep the previous night, as he did when he was sick.

He had already placed the tray and the towel back into the kitchen, and was making to reenter the bed when he heard a persistent ringing tone. Finding Annie's purse, he rummaged in it, trying to find her phone before it woke her.

Opening the flip phone to mute it, he realized that he had accidentally answered it.

"_Annie? Annie, are you there?" _a woman spoke on the other line.

"Hello? Who is this?" Auggie questioned.

"_Huh? This is Danielle; I'm Annie's sister. Who's this?" _Danielle spoke.

"Oh hi, Danielle. This is Auggie; I'm a co-worker of Annie's, and she's been taking care of me since I got sick, but she apparently got sick as well."

"_Huh." _Danielle took a moment to think, _"You know what? Don't tell her I called. I've got a feeling she's gonna have more fun there, than here."_

And with that she hung up.


	3. Autumn

This is for _ribbonsandlace, _who has been an Aaah–mazing reviewer. She requested the prompt "Autumn" with a park setting.

xXx

Annie Walker hated the fall.

So when Auggie called her in the middle of the day to meet him at the park, she briefly hesitated. It was nothing against him, of course; it was simply that on a day like this she didn't want to go out. He wasn't the only one that offered her out; Danielle had asked her if she wanted to go to the beach with her, Michael, and the girls.

After politely declining, she found herself alone at home, with nothing to do. The last thing she wanted to do was go outside, but hearing _him –_ specifically him – asking her made her unable to say no. However, as she slipped on her flip-flops, and turned to lock the door she found herself cringing.

No matter what she wore, she would always find aggravating bits of leaves and twigs in her shoes. In ninth grade, her first boyfriend broke up with her during football season – it wasn't that bad, though, since Annie promptly threw a right hook, and gave him a bruise under his left eye.

She never knew what the weather would be like, as it naturally fluctuated in DC. Today looked sunny, so she had crossed her fingers and wore some of the more comfortable clothes she had.

Passing by the Starbucks' drive through, she drove uneventfully through the streets of DC before she reached the park that Auggie had told her.

"Is there a reason you asked me to meet you here?" she called, a few meters behind him. He was sitting on a wooden park bench, and she was fairly certain he now had a smirk painted on his face.

Rising to go meet her, he promptly sat down when her hand collided with his shoulder, signaling her arrival.

"Is there a reason you stood for over a minute behind me without saying anything?" he queried.

She frowned, "Wait how'd you . . . Never mind. How about this time you answer a question with, say, an answer," she joshed, and teasingly drew one of the cups of coffee in a circle around his nose, to the point where she knew he would be able to smell it.

"Oh, you cruel woman," he murmured, tilting his head back as his eyes drifted shut. A teasing smile drew upon his lips as he bent down until he was level with her ear and murmured, "I can be cruel too, you know." His hand began tracing an invisible pattern on her leg.

Annie's eyes widened considerably as she took in the double entendre in his words. His sly fingers on her leg were leaving fire in their path, and she knew the sharp intake of breath, nearly inaudible as it was, was still loud enough for Auggie to hear. Judging by his smirk, it appeared he was completely knowledgeable of her reaction.

In one quick movement, one quicker than she could see, he swiftly and smoothly took the coffee from her hands.

"Hey . . ." she whined, disappointed when he rid her of her leverage. She made a feeble movement for the coffee, one that he instinctively dodged with a chuckle.

"Being the kind gentleman that I am," he ignored her less than lady-like snort, "I will put you out of your misery. This is for your own good, anyways, you need to learn how to interrogate suspects." He was fairly certain that she had rolled her eyes here, but he couldn't be sure.

She smirked as an idea came to her, and her fingers danced to an invisible beat and trailed up his arm.

"First of all," he spoke, holding up a finger with a free hand, and then lowering it to pick up a few red maple leaves, "I knew you were coming because your flip-flops crunch the leaves," he proceeded to grind the leaves in his hands, making a sound comparable to the one she was making earlier, "No matter how lightly you step."

"Second of all," he paused to bring the Styrofoam cup to his lips, "Wow, this is really good coffee," he murmured distractedly, ignoring her fingers that were stealthily making their way up his arm, "Second of all, I asked you meet me here because I knew you weren't doing anything, and this way we could be doing nothing, together. You haven't been exactly subtle about hating the fall."

"I _have _been subtle! It's just that you notice everything about me!" Her eyes widened as she finally realized what she had said. Her thoughts seemed to have bypassed the part of her brain that would have yelled "No, no! Bad idea!" and instead escaped out her lips.

"That's true," he nodded in agreement, "I do notice everything about you. Th-third," Auggie stuttered, as he waited for her to stop. Her fingers were sliding up and down his neck. "I-I can't really concentrate when you do that, Annie."

She moved closer to him, her eyes drifting closed as she murmured, "I think I'm doing pretty well."

What was she doing? Hadn't it been yesterday that she had gone to drinks with him as her best friend, and now she was doing this? It wasn't the first time they had been together and she would bet her month's salary it wouldn't be the last – although admittedly, on a government paycheck, it wasn't all that much.

She sat spellbound as she hummed a song she didn't recognize – Auggie could help her with that later, when he finally snapped.

Their now cold coffee sat forgotten beside them, and with one fluid movement Auggie snatched her hand away from his face only to bring it back as he sucked roughly on each finger.

"You. Little. Tease," he punctuated, holding her hand against his lips. In a contrasting action, he softly kissed her knuckles. "You're driving me crazy," he murmured, his lips vibrating against her hand.

In a half-thought out action, her eyes flickered towards his lips, and brought hers to his close the distance between them.

His hand pulled her closer to him as he placed it on her neck. They broke apart slowly, both panting for air.

"Auggie," she mumbled, breathlessly.

"Yeah?" he questioned, barely lucid.

"I _really _like the fall, now."


	4. Death

**Warnings:** Angst, mentions of alcohol abuse, and suicidal thoughts.

xXx

"No. . ." she whimpered, biting down on the inside of her cheek. "You're lying to me. Why . . . why would you do that?"

There was something wet and salty running down her face. She wouldn't realize until later that it was her tears.

She bit down harder, more purposefully this time.

"No!" she screamed. Annie was standing in the middle of the tech office – Auggie's office – when Joan broke the news to her. To be honest, Joan had been kind about, offering Annie a cup of tea and giving her a shoulder to cry on. Joan was often nicknamed "Mother Goose", because, though she often didn't act like it, she knew when to employ the underused maternal side of her.

"Annie," Joan soothed, placing a comforting arm on the younger blonde's shoulder. Annie flinched and turned away as if it had burned. Who knows, maybe it did.

"Auggie is not _dead_!" she screamed. If her previous scream wasn't enough to attract the attention of the entire DPD division, the second guaranteed it.

Closer to the door – no one was quite enough brave to enter the office – were Conrad, Stu, and Jai. At the moment Annie despised them a bit more than was warranted.

"Annie," someone spoke, and at that point, Annie couldn't tell who. Her tears were blurring everything, her eyes were unfocused, and her ears were mixing the sounds to the point in which she couldn't hear anything, much less tell any of the voices apart.

She bit down harder, repeating her slurring mantra in her mind. Auggie is not dead.

She tasted red.

And she saw black.

xXx

"Annie."

"Annie."

"Annie."

"Annie."

She wasn't completely conscious, but at least she could now identify that there were four distinct voices attempting to rouse her awake.

"Auggie," she whimpered, in a voice so weak, that everyone else in the room exchanged worried glances.

The second thing Annie realized was that she had a bitter copper taste in her mouth. Oh, that was blood.

Her blood.

Her eyes drifted open, but it hurt. It hurt to see, it hurt to think.

She backed up against the leg of the desk until she couldn't anymore. Staring at her apprehensively was Joan, Stu, Jai, and Conrad.

Annie spared a glance through the glass walls. Every agent in the expansive office seemed to be dutifully focused on something. But every now and then, they would spare a glance at the tech office.

For being CIA, they really weren't subtle.

Annie groaned mentally, for her vocal cords seemed too worn from screaming. She was the DPD's newest attraction – the newbie that had the mental breakdown.

Sluggishly, her eyes moved towards the four silent people in office. Why were they here? In her mind, they didn't care about her. She looked towards the glass walls again and grimaced at her translucent reflection.

Her mascara was no longer perfect – nothing was perfect, anymore – as her tears had caused it to run down her face in elegant streams. Her eyes were red and cloudy with tears. Her mouth was dripping thin crimson blood.

She looked like hell.

She tried to meet their eyes, but turned away when she saw what was in them.

Pity. Sympathy. Guilt. Though the last one was more evident in Jai and Joan's eyes than anyone else.

She now knew what Auggie meant about not wanting to be pitied. Shakily standing up, she supported herself by placing a hand on the glass desk. Someone placed an arm on her shoulder – it was a man, she could tell that much – but she recoiled instinctively. It seemed that anyone she got close to got hurt, or worse.

If Annie had looked up again, she would've seen Jai's guilt intensify, but she didn't.

"Annie," Joan murmured soothingly to the disheveled blonde.

Tiredly, Annie looked up. She was numb, and she couldn't feel anything. All she wanted to do was go to bed, close her eyes, and fall into a black abyss, never to wake up again.

She wondered if Auggie had a gun somewhere.

"Annie," Joan repeated, "Why don't you take some time off? Come back when you're up for it, okay?"

She nodded robotically.

A knife would do.

xXx

"_Auggie, c'mon, you can't be serious."Annie laughed awkwardly._

_For the past hour, she had been trying to convince him not to go to Iraq._

"_C'mon Annie, you think you're the only one who gets to have fun?" Auggie's tone was kiddingly, but it still threw a pang of hurt at her._

"_No but . . . . You could get hurt," she responded lamely, adding the reason as a last resort._

"_Annie, don't worry. I'm invincible, remember? Besides, both Jai and Joan fully support me working on this mission. Jai even recommended me to Arthur. I mean, it's only because I served there and I know the culture. But this is what I've been wanting, a chance to be out in the field, again. I mean, mostly, I'm running tech, there, but I still get to be in on the action and everything!"_

'_Jai doesn't know what he's doing,' Annie thought, but plastered on a smile that looked more like a grimace and nodded._

"_I guess."_

xXx

She locked herself in the guesthouse. She told Danielle and Michael that she needed time alone, to figure herself out. They said "of course", and patted her arm with a sympathetic smile. She returned it, but it tasted like acid in her mouth.

She leaned her head back on the pillow, and dropped her arm below her bed to find the bottle of Patron Auggie had given her. "It's for safe keeping" was what he had said.

No one she loved actually stayed safe.

She turned her head to the side. The picture frame that once held a picture of Ben, now held a picture of her and Auggie. They were smiling, unaware that a photo was being taken. They looked like there wasn't a care in the world.

She stood from her bed, the bottle still in her hand, with a fourth of it gone already, and held the picture frame in the other hand.

"We were so naïve," Annie murmured. Her angry tears wet the glass on the frame. She stepped back until her knees hit the mattress. With the frame in her hand, she heaved it, and watched it sail across the room.

She closed her eyes briefly as it crashed against the wall and broke.

The sound was satisfying.

xXx

Annie had kept to herself; so much so that Danielle had told her daughters that Aunt Annie was on vacation.

They saw the lights on at night sometimes, but convinced themselves otherwise.

It was easier to believe that their aunt was on a warm sunny beach somewhere, than in their guest house, depressed and disconnected with the rest of civilization.

xXx

It was midnight when she looked at the clock again. She winced; she had thought that it was only ten. For the last fifteen minutes, she had paced the entire layout of her home, trying to control her breathing and dizzying thoughts. She shook her head, trying to clear it of chaos.

Giving up, she paced to the bathroom, and opening the mirror covered cupboards, rummaging for the bottle that contained little oval white pills. She found it, with "Xanax" written on it in purple cursive.

It was for her anxiety and panic disorder, another side effect of Auggie's death. She didn't mind that it helped a bit with the looming depression.

Despite all of that, she still hated what it did to her. Annie had gone to the doctor three days after finding out about Auggie's passing. He had explained to her the side effects, and warned her not to use it too often.

She did follow his orders, taking the pills only when she needed them. In the nearly two weeks she had had them, she had only taken two.

She didn't take so few of them because she rarely needed them, but rather because the side effects were too horrid for her to continually take them.

Annie had hallucinated him. It wasn't everyday and all the time, but just for the briefest moments, when she could swear that he was in the passenger seat of a car, or speaking with a burly man in the mall.

Anytime she saw him, and even sometimes when she thought about him, she could feel her resistance waning, and her eyes roll back into the darkness.

Closing the cupboard door, she found herself staring at her reflection in the mirror. She had lost weight, too much, as she had more or less lost her appetite. Her eyes were encompassed in dark raccoon-like bags.

Her once glowing skin was now dull and pale grey. Her wavy dirty-blonde hair now lay limp around her shoulders.

She looked like she felt – disheartened, depressed, and unenthusiastic.

She spared a disgusted glance to the bottle of Xanax. Flipping the top open with her thumb, she dumped them into the toilet.

Her eyes followed the pills as they were flushed down the toilet.

It she were to really think about it, those pills were a perfect metaphor for her.

xXx

She looked in her closet and found it. The black dress. The black dress that she promised she would wear on a special occasion. This was a special occasion, wasn't it?

Danielle drove her to the funeral.

Annie hadn't driven since the day she found out about Auggie's death. She hadn't done much of anything, in fact. The entire car ride there, Annie stared out the window, tracing the lines of wet humidity with her fingers.

The sky was dark and ominous. It resembled the proverbial cloud over Annie's head.

She realized that the car had stopped when Danielle had tapped her on her shoulder. Annie had learned how not to flinch when somebody touched her.

She just pretended it was Auggie.

"Annie, we're here," Danielle murmured quietly to her. Annie turned slightly, and with a blank gaze nodded.

"Do you . . . do you want me to come with you?" Danielle asked her.

"I'll be fine, Dani," Annie replied hoarsely, stepping out of the car.

"Okay," Danielle nodded, "Just call me when you want me to pick you up."

Annie nodded bleakly.

Danielle drove away in her car, thinking that Annie had improved. At least today she responded to something in a full sentence.

xXx

The funeral was closed-casket. The body was so badly burned in the explosion that, they told her, DNA was the only way to positively identify him. The funeral took place three weeks after his death, for his body had to be autopsied and then sent from Iraq to DC.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Auggie's family. His four brothers, two with their wives, and his mother and father stood together in a huddle. Auggie's nephews were being taken care of by one of his sisters-in-law's sister.

She didn't meet their gaze, and had this been another situation, she would have gladly introduced herself.

She knew all the names of his brothers – Parryson, Donovan, Bernard, and Cortley, and could more or less figure out which one was which.

She didn't try to, though.

After the ceremony, the forecasted rain had come in a torrent. The heavy drops pelted her pale skin, and the small bits of hail left purple welts on her neck and arms.

Joan and Arthur politely offered her a ride, though she declined, stating that her sister was picking her up.

Jai looked like he wanted to say something to her, but relented, shaking his dark hair in guilt and walking away.

She was the only one there now, and she pulled out her cell phone, preparing to call Danielle. Her finger hovered on Danielle's speed dial.

She walked home.

xXx

For a moment, she was glad that it was raining, that way no one could see how her tears blurred her sight, and how the salt from those tears rubbed her face raw.

Her foot hit against a part of the pavement, and she looked up. This wasn't her house, nor was it anywhere near it. Looking up, Annie saw that she was in the West End. The West End where Auggie lived.

Pivoting her head slightly, she caught sight of his apartment. She glanced down. Stupid feet, why did they have to lead her here?

Leaving what was left of her sanity behind, she made her way to his apartment. Who knew, maybe his lease wasn't up yet.

She fumbled for the copy of the key he had given her, and turned it into the lock, twisting it until it clicked. She pushed the metal door open, and padded into his apartment.

She closed her eyes as she felt for something to hold onto. She took quick, sharp breaths as she struggled to breath. He knees felt like they couldn't support her any longer. Her eyes were defocusing again, and she felt lightheaded. A choked sob rang out in the motionless apartment.

She collapsed sobbing against the wall, her strength and her pride fleeing her body. She lifted herself up, leaning on the wall for support.

Stumbling as if she was intoxicated, she made her way to his bed. She fell, her face burrowing into a pillow. It smelled like him.

Holding another pillow to her, she pulled the covers over her and, for a moment, she thought he was here with her.

She could look for his gun tomorrow. She wasn't moving now.

For the first time in three weeks, Annie slept. For a moment, a ghost of a smile tugged at her lips, but only for a moment.

xXx

Wow. This was twice as long as I usually write. Also, there is a sequel to this, and everybody that reviews will find out what prompt I'm writing the sequel to.


	5. Survive

Hello! Here is the (hopefully) long-awaited sequel to Death.

Survive

xXx

_If you really love something, set it free. If it comes back, it's yours._

xXx

Annie gasped in her sleep, murmurings and writhing in emotional pain. She awoke out of a restless sleep with a start, and found herself clutching a wrist with the other hand.

"Crap," she muttered, pulling her hand away from her wrist. Her sharp, unclipped nails had dug into the delicate skin and caused it to break. She inspected it more closely and found crescent shaped marks hemorrhaging blood. She shivered in the cold as she realized that she was still soaking wet from the torrential rainstorms that – and a look to the window confirmed this – were still wreaking havoc on the greater DC area.

Wiping her burning tears off her face with her undamaged hand, she shakily stood up. She stumbled to the bathroom, not bothering to turn on the light.

The dark stormy clouds had blocked the sun's harsh rays, and the room had taken on a dark, ominous glow. Groping in the dark, the sliver of silver light illuminated her path to Auggie's first aid kit.

She pulled out the gauze, and turned on the faucet, thrusting her wrist under the freezing water jet. She winced and pulled back, gasping and whimpering in pain as the cold water made contact with the numerous wounds. She cursed under her breath as the blood swirled, staining the pristine white sink. She pulled out the gauze, stretching it out to a point, and then biting it off with her teeth. Tightly wrapping the gauze, she stepped back, exhaling sharply as she turned the water off.

She leaned back onto the slick tiled wall, silver shadows playing upon the counters of her face. She closed her eyes and wiped the invisible tears from her flushed cheeks.

Her breaths were harsh and controlled, as she paced her breathing, not trusting herself to do anything else.

She stumbled out of the bathroom, groping the wall for support. She staggered through the broad hallways, her eyes shut in pain – both emotional and physical – and left a wet trail wherever she went.

She somehow made it to his liquor cabinet. She pried it open with both hands, not having enough strength to manage doing it with one hand. She folded her legs, one underneath the other, and sat cross-legged and stared at the contents. Of course, Patrón wasn't the only drink he had, but it triggered something inside of her, and she remembered the first time he had mentioned it. Reaching out, she robotically tugged the hand-blown glass bottle towards her. She looked at it in her hands. This specific bottle was Patrón Añejo, and it was encased in a hand blown glass bottle that had a sparkling gold ribbon tied around the slender neck.

The bottle itself was filled with a dewy golden liquid that shimmered in the cold light. She pulled out the rounded cork with an unladylike grunt, and drank the liquid with a gulp. She felt regret stinging at her eyes as the nectar slid down her throat; this bottle was expensive, and here she was, attempting to drown her sorrows in it. Auggie has – she winced morosely, as her train of thoughts still insisted on referring to him in the present tense - good taste in tequila – that much was obvious. The Patrón was exotic and rich, and was tinted with the lightest hints of oak.

She looked down, planting the bottle in her lap, and inserted the cork in it once more. She scathed at it; was this how it was going to end? She could picture the grayscale article on the page of the Washington Post.

'Smithsonian acquisitions employee found dead in deceased friend's apartment. Cause of death seems to be alcohol poisoning. She is survived by her sister, two nieces, and brother-in-law.'

Wouldn't it be so quintessential? Her dying of a "broken heart" after her best friend passed away heroically in the line of duty. Her jaw tightened as she thought of his family. What line had the Agency mechanically delivered to them? Would they ever know how much Auggie had achieved in his life?

If she died this way, at least her family wouldn't have to swallow the bitter lies that were fed to them. In any case, they would never know the events that led up to it, the work that she had done and the people she had deceived in order to fulfill the "greater good". And maybe, she was perfectly okay with that.

Why didn't he listen to her? She knew that once he made up his mind, there was little to do to be able to change it.

Annie groaned and tipped her head so that it rested on the mouth of the bottle in her lap; wet blonde tendrils obstructed her vision as they fell in her face. She could feel the beginnings of a migraine starting. There was a dull, repetitive thudding sound echoing in the caverns of her head. The beat seemed to pound her head, a shooting pain ricocheting every time her head throbbed

Blearily, she pried her eyes slightly open; open enough to see how much she had drank.

A chill ran through her, and her veins froze, as she stared blankly at the shimmering glass bottle. The bottle was less than half full, and for the life of her, she couldn't remember drinking all of it.

Pushing the bottle disgustedly away from her, she shoved her hands to the floor, using the leverage to help her stand up. A sparkle of light glinting from the kitchen caught her sight, and wobbled trance-like towards the kitchen.

In some dark part of her mind, she faintly registered that item as a knife. How perfect would that be? Gingerly, she drew the knife towards herself. Her lithe fingers of her undamaged hand drew and traced invisible circles on the blade in her alcohol induced stupor. She held it in her hand, and a small, childlike gasp escaped her.

She was so spellbound that she didn't hear the alloy door creak open, or the steadily paced steps leading from that door to the kitchen.

It followed that she, as well, didn't hear him stand only a couple of feet away from her. Her attention was focused on the potentially deadly blade when she was flipped around, a small, frightened gasp escaping her. Whoever had sneaked up on her currently had his hand at her throat, cutting off her air supply; the other hand was pinning her to the counter.

The world was slowly turning black, tunnel vision slowly darkening her vision. The knife clattered to the floor, the only noise that was loud enough to be heard by Annie, as her senses slowly drained away. She only had enough strength to choke out one word.

"Auggie."

The man in question frowned and backed up a few steps, letting go of the blonde woman, who proceeded to crumbled to the ground, in an awkward sitting position while gasped for air, clutching her chest.

"Annie?" he questioned, his confusion obvious as it seeped into his voice.

Annie muttered affirmatively, as she labored her breathing, not yet recovered from their exchange.

"No," she began muttering. "No. No. No!"

"Annie . . ." Auggie spoke again, feeling for her shoulder, and placing a comforting arm on it once he found it. He was wearing the same clothes he normally did, but his expression was off. It had a haunted look that only intensified as she continually screamed at him. His hair was disheveled, more so than usual, and his face was rougher, scratched raw by the thin Middle Eastern sand.

"No!" she screamed, petrified, at him. "You're dead!"

"Annie," he soothed, kneeling down next to her, putting his hands on her shoulders. His hands were met with drenched clothing. She was trembling, and rocking back and forth to calm herself. She muttered nonsense to herself, whimpering in between sentences.

"Annie, why are you wet?" he asked, rubbing her arms to generate heat.

She shook her head defiantly, but responded anyways. "Walked here," she paused to take a breath, ". . . From your . . . funeral. It was raining. For a delusion, you're pretty stupid."

She shook her head, and made to stand up. Leaning partly on Auggie, and partly on the counter, she subconsciously rubbed her neck. She shivered partly because of Auggie's hand on her leg, and partly because she was still wet from when she walked here, not more than a few hours ago.

Her hand fumbled around for the white pill bottle with the blue logo that she had left here when she stumbled into his bed.

When her hand met with the bottle, she gingerly opened it, and shook out a pill. Auggie had stood up, and she either didn't notice or didn't pay it mind.

"Annie, what are you taking?" he asked, not knowing whether or not to expect an answer.

"Panicyl," she muttered, before swallowing the pill with a gulp of water.

His brow furrowed in concern, "Panicyl? That's for anxiety disorders. Why are you taking that?"

She turned around sharply, eyes boring holes in him. She stepped closer to him so that they were chest to chest. "Not that it's any of your business, but I flushed my prescription of Xanax down the toilet," she snapped. "Any more questions, _Anderson_? If that's even your real name." she scoffed.

Annie made to move past him, but his outstretched arm prevented her from doing so. It was now the second time that he had pinned her to the counter. He inhaled slightly.

"Annie, have you been drinking?" Faintly, he could smell the undertones of Patrón on her breath.

"What's it to you? If you cared about me, you wouldn't have died," she muttered dejectedly, running her fingers through her hair.

"How much have you drunken?" He tried again, gripping her forearms to shake her slightly, as if that would cause her to be more coherent.

"Just . . . um, a little more than half the bottle," she responded resignedly.

His eyes widened in shock; there was no telling what that much alcohol could do to her.

"Are you _trying_ to kill yourself, Annie?" he shook her more strongly, so much so that he took a step back to balance himself.

His foot was met with the distinctive clatter of a knife. Briefly, he let her go, reaching down to pick up the knife. He held it in his hand, not saying anything as Annie squirmed uncomfortably.

"Were you, Annie? Were you trying to kill yourself?" he spoke, softly and more seriously.

She gulped, and looked down. "I had . . . considered it. Maybe, a bit more than would be recommended." His hand met hers, and trailed up her arm.

Auggie stiffened, his blood ran cold, his eyes widening, and his breath catching in his throat.

"Annie?" His voice raised a few octaves.

His thumb was circling the gauze that she had wrapped around her wrist. In all honesty, his reaction was what would be expected of him. The gauze was covering up cuts on the inside of her wrist, and it wasn't hard to imagine where his train of thought could be leading him, especially after learning about her suicidal thoughts.

"I wasn't," she blurted out, quick to defend herself, "I promise I wasn't Auggie; I didn't slit my wrists," her voice took on characteristics of a toddler who had been wrongfully blamed. Her breath became shallower.

"Annie," he soothed, rubbing her arm in what he hoped to be a comforting fashion. It garnered the opposite reaction out of her, as she coldly stepped away. He continued his line of questioning. "Then what were you doing with the knife?"

Guiltily, Annie looked down. "I was just . . . just considering it," she admitted.

He looked like he was about to speak, when she spoke again, preventing him from doing so. "You have no idea how confused I was," she sighed, "am," she corrected, and it was true.

"**I've been hallucinating, passing out, having panic attacks, and . . . it just seemed like a good – an easy – way out," she closed her eyes briefly, preparing herself mentally to continue, "I haven't talked to the girls since they told me you died; I've locked myself in my house and, by now, they're convinced I've gone on vacation. I don't know, maybe that's easier for them. To top things off, I swallowed down a bottle of ****Patrón a couple days ago, and then passed out."**

She looked up at him. "It's been hell."

"I . . . didn't know, Annie," he murmured guiltily.

Her voice took on a sinister tone, when she spoke to him, menace seeping into her words, "Then maybe you shouldn't have left. Or didn't you consider that?"

"Annie, you don't get it. This wasn't planned. Nobody had any idea this would happen!" he contested.

She rolled her eyes and brushed past him, shivering when she did. It wasn't because of anything between them – though had it been another case, it would have been – it was that she was still cold from the rain.

She didn't know exactly how long she slept, but she knew it couldn't have been much if she was still wet and cold.

He followed her, trailing nervously after her. Was she ignoring him, or rather pondering over what he had said to her?

His pant leg brushed cautiously against an abandoned bottle of Pàtron, and when she was out of the living room, he discreetly picked it up, shaking it slightly to see how full it was. He cringed when he felt that it was nearly empty.

He made to his bedroom, where he knew she was after hearing the bed creek softly, and he assumed that she had sat down.

"Annie?" he questioned, leaning against the doorway. It seemed that that was all he was saying now. He heard the bed creek again.

"I'm here," she murmured quietly, her hands fisted in the comforter as she perched herself on the bed. Her head was bowed slightly, and her face was reddening as small invisible tears crept down her face.

He slinked towards her, careful not to make too much noise. In a situation like this, he knew that interrupting the precarious silence would be decidedly unhelpful.

His laser cane was poking out of his pocket, and she stiffened; she could always tell when he was arriving if she saw the distinctive neon-green glow. Those memories used to be picturesque, but now they just made her want to scream. He sat down beside her, the bed dipping slightly as he did.

"Tell me," she commanded. At his confused look, she elaborated, though he wasn't sure he had looked up at all. "Tell me what happened."

He closed his eyes; he knew this question was coming, albeit not from her in her current condition.

"I was in Iraq four weeks ago. The first week had gone by relatively uneventful – I was the techno whiz, just like I am here." He waited for her to chuckle at his blatant ego-boosting, but when it didn't come, he continued, dejectedly, "The second week was . . . different, to say the least."

"Different how?" Annie asked. This time, at least, her tone had some emotion in it.

"They wanted me to come with them, to check something out," he shook his head, dark locks flying every which way, "I don't even know what they wanted me to look at. Anyways, I took my equipment, and we went to what they said was an abandoned home and then . . ." he closed.

"And then?" she prompted. He wasn't sure, but he thought that she had shuffled closer to him.

"And then everything went to hell."

She stiffened next to him, and he wondered if that was because she had experienced the same feeling while he was overseas. Nudging her gently, he continued.

"There was a bomb, and I don't know why, but they didn't take the necessary precautions. 'Just in and out' they told us," he frowned, "We went in and Martinson stumbled over a trip wire. Nobody saw it. At least, that's what they told me."

"A week later, I woke up in the hospital and they told me Martinson had died in the explosion. I told them I wanted to come back to DC, if I wasn't going to be able to continue to work there."

"They said that the rest of the unit was also in the hospital, and that I was the first to wake. The nurse told me that they had run the DNA of all of us, and that a certain August Anderson was dead."

She didn't say anything, so he continued. "They told me that they had already prepared the body for autopsy, and that they had informed Langley of my 'death'. I stayed behind after the mistake was realized, because that way, I didn't exist. I was a ghost that could go and do anything without having to look over my shoulder. Figuratively, of course," he cracked a smile.

"No one else knew, Annie. It was the only way that we could complete the mission,"

She spoke this time, her voice rough from disuse, "I thought I was more important than that, Auggie."

"Annie, you don't get it. I wasn't allowed to contact anyone," he countered, his voice taking on a defensive edge.

She stood up as he finished his thought. He could hear pace nervously around his room. He wasn't sure, but he had inferred that his normally orderly room was now in disarray.

She exhaled a shaky breath as her thoughts pounded inside of her. Did the Panicyl already kick in, or would she need to take another? She spared a glance at him. Could she make it out of the room before he stopped her? She shook her head; she didn't think so.

"That's never stopped you before," she retorted, inwardly cursing herself for letting her tears seep into her voice.

She heard him stand up, and felt him stand behind her and put his hand on her shoulder.

"Annie . . ." he began, remorse once again in his voice.

"No!" she screamed, whipping around. "You don't get to defend yourself. You don't get to apologize and be remorseful. You could've called, but you _didn't_! I don't want to see you being contrite, because you have _no _idea what it's been like for me," she ran her fingers through her tangled dirty blonde hair.

"You have no idea what it's like to be left by someone you care about . . . again."

They were standing chest to chest, hers heaving as she breathed heavily, out of breath from her enraged speech. It finally hit Auggie, why it hurt her so much. It had taken her a while for her to be able to trust someone after Ben, and to have him leave her like Ben did. It was enough to explain her psychological breakdown. He wondered if she could ever trust anyone again.

"I'm so sorry, Annie," he whispered. He heard sniffle, though he imagined she was trying to hide it. Her arms wrapped gingerly around his neck. Her face burrowed into the junction between his shoulder and neck.

He, in turn, put his arms around her as well, pulling her close to him, and nuzzled her hair.

"I know, Auggie, I am too."

He felt tears hitting his chest, and he pulled her closer. He closed his eyes, trying to find his bearings. He shifted her towards the bed.

"Sleep, Annie," he ushered.

She lied on her side, and looked up at him. "Stay with me?" she asked. She didn't meet his eyes for fear of seeing rejection. With a short, hesitant nod, he looped around to the other side of the bed, while she rolled over to face him.

"We'll survive this, Annie," he promised her.

She met his eyes and sniffled once more before nodding. "I know we will, Auggie."

And they did.

xXx

Wow. This is the longest chapter I've written. Like ever. I feel proud. :)

Also, I'm going to continue that thing I did last time – telling my reviewers and PMers the next prompt. I won't do this every time – 'cause honestly, I won't always know what I'm going to write next. This one, however, had been rolling around in my head for a while.

The next one is not connected to this one or Death, by the way.


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